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Cracked Ice
Cracked Ice is an event shown from the perspective of Dragomir, as he is chained to a room nearby the Rabbit Hole by Lothar. Date: 31 October 2015. Characters Involved Avengers 2.0 *Moroz Drakona / Dragomir Hex 2.0 *Wraith / Lothar Schmidt Beginning to Burn I raise my head as I hear the sound of footsteps, ignoring the splash of blood droplets on the concrete, watching him observe me. “How do you feel, agent?” he asks. Did he have brain cells or did he really think patronising me was a smart move? “How do you expect me to feel, Skellington?” I snarl, glaring fiercely. How many nicknames will it take to successfully anger him enough? “Pleasantly warm, perhaps? Or are you beginning to burn, dragon boy?” he smirks, a gloved hand clamping my chin to force me to look him in the eyes. Checking for fear. Typical. My eyes look down to the bins of fires at my sides on the ground, the source of my overwhelming sense of weakening. There are beads of sweat on my forehead and he surely has worked out by now that fire is – unfortunately – my main weakness. Element-wise, at least. “The poor little –Scylla- is too scared to let me have my powers. How strong you are! It’s cute of you, Schmidt.” I briefly pause before questioning, “Why are you doing this? Shouldn’t you be focused on tearing apart your own team, or are they getting boring? I can sympathize. Then again, you’re boring yourself.” It has been a plain fact that Lothar took after his father in the way of creating arguments and fights amongst his little group. Hopefully the same cannot be applied to me. “Are you attempting to insult me? You’re failing miserably.” Where have I heard someone say something similar? “No, but that right there? Proves you’re boring. Stealing Daddy’s lines now, hm? Sweet.” He doesn’t like that. His hand comes with full force to smack my cheek, and my head snaps to the side with the impact. Feels like a bee sting. More of an annoyance than anything. “You slap like a girl,” I mutter, looking down to hide what I assume will be a blossoming red mark on one half of my face. I barely register him move closer, but I do as soon as his knee slams up to my groin, sparking white pain to surge, eliciting a whine. “You react.. like a girl too,” I growl, forcing out my defiant words. “Insulting me really isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he sighs, turning his back on me. “I thought that we, together, could give your team a little surprise party. This is the crucial preparation stage, you see. They would hate to see you in such a state, I’m sure. So let’s improve, shall we?” He turns back with a twisted grin, showing six iron nails lying in his palm. He must be kidding. “I’ll really be quite nailed at the party,” I dryly comment, masking my emotions to hide the apprehension and potential fear within. It hardly helps that there is lingering pain beating inside of me. “Very much so,” he agrees, putting some nails back in exchange for a hammer. “In some respects, you remind me of those –fictional- tales of Jesus Christ.” I wait, finding his statement ludicrous. How could I possibly be like Jesus? “You’re going against the set society to introduce something new – in your case, order.” Everyone introduces something new to a set society in some form. Has he heard of politics? Of individual beliefs? “You have a mission to try and spread the word, though instead of love you chose hope to instil into the resisting people. And now this is your trial, for treasion against a clearly superior force.” Hardly. I sigh, exasperated, raising my eyebrows at the younger one. “Fair points,” I admit, “But only a lunatic would think them up.” He shrugs, holding the nail to prick the centre of my palm. I hold my breath. “There’s also the point of you being the son of a-” he pauses to slam the hammer on the nail head, driving it through most of my hand, and I bite down on my lip until the metallic hint of blood is tasted “- god who believes himself to be the absolute best.” I become tense, rigid, holding back my instinctual cries. “You were also, in a different way, born to an abnormal amount of –” I whine as the second nail goes through my other hand “- parents.” Wrong, but I am hardly in a position to point that out. He picks up the third nail, positioning it at my wrist, and then further up my forearm. “You’re infuriatingly annoying,” he mutters, quickly driving the nail through. The –pain-. “And absolutely idiotic.” I repetitively curse as the nail tears into my other wrist, still not begging, or crying, or however he wants me to react. He crouches down. “What else? Oh! Your disciples. And look who betrayed you-” he hits the nail into my foot, sparking fierce further throbbing “- your own brother!” He laughs as he speaks and hammers the other nail in. Too far. Too. Far. But I remain silent. “I thought the point was to nail me into the actual cross, not just put it through my flesh,” I snarl, my breath laboured, restraining myself from seething. He ignores me. “How do you feel, agent?” The same words as earlier. No originality. “Fuck.. you..” I reply, as another wave of multiple pain washes through me. “Your little friends will be along for the party soon enough.” He walks to the door, as I gaze down to the blood-splattered concrete. “I’d suggest you save up your cries for help until you hear them arrive. Tell them I say hello. If you don’t crumble first.” I scoff, the reminder of the fire bringing back the fear of how badly that was affecting me in my much weaker state. I hear him from the tunnel as he exits, “Don’t forget to paint the floor!” Category:Events Category:2015 Category:2010s Category:31 October